


Where the Lovelight Gleams

by SpaceMatriarchy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, The 'Verse Where They Became Homesteaders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceMatriarchy/pseuds/SpaceMatriarchy
Summary: Christmas Eve on the farm, and there was much still to be done, and much fun to be had.Shame the Winchesters were still waiting on the fourth family member.





	Where the Lovelight Gleams

When the chill of Autumn first dipped into the freeze of late November, and the hardware store first paraded out their plastic, pre-lit trees, Sam quickly developed a mental image of what their First Christmas on the Farm, registered trademark, would look like.

It was an imaginary vision board, full of home baking and fresh cut trees and hot drinks by the fire. Jack would come home from college after three and a half long months, and they’d all watch the same Christmas specials that had been on basic cable since he and Dean were kids, and go for a walk on Christmas Day and then they’d eat, anything and everything comforting, sugary, and warm.

He did not imagine spending the morning of the 24th watching Dean and Cas argue in a used sporting goods store.

“What’s the difference between the white skates and the black skates?” Cas asked, wandering between the racks of pre-loved boots and blades.

“The white ones are for girls,” Dean said. He was distracted, trying to lace up the first pair he’d found in his size.

Cas picked up one of the slender white boots, examining the skate for himself. “The blade is different,” he said.

“Probably for foot shape or something,” Dean replied.

“No, Dean, look.” Cas brought the skate around to the bench Dean was sitting on and sat beside him. He placed the pad of his index finger on the jagged patch at the front of the blade. “The black ones are smooth and curved up at both ends. The white ones have teeth.”

“Teeth?” Dean laughed.

“I’m being serious; why does it have teeth?” Cas asked, then added, to himself, “I suppose they must dig into the ice, but…”

“Google it when we get home,” Dean said, and tied off the laces on his skate.

“What if I need the teeth? What’s the advantage?” Cas asked. “Why should I choose the curved blades over the toothy blades? If we go home and find out we’ve bought the wrong skates--”

“Cas,” Dean said, half of an honest to God whine, with a look that told Sam he knew they’d already started down a very slippery slope.

“Dean,” Cas responded flatly. A dare to continue.

“The black skates are fine. Just pick black skates.”

Castiel stood up, barely registering Dean. “I’m going to ask a sales clerk,” he said, and wandered off.

“Cas!” Dean called after him. “They’re just-- oh, Jesus Christ,” he finished, dropping his voice to mutter to himself.

Sam watched the exchange from the bench across from Dean’s. He couldn’t help a little smile, and had let them go on for no other reason than that he liked seeing them bounce off each other. He liked how unconstrained and unassuming Cas could be, and he liked Dean’s patient and ongoing attempts to guide him, even when it meant pulling justifications out of his ass.

“Do you know why they have teeth?” Sam asked, watching Dean start in on the other boot laces.

“No fucking clue,” Dean grumbled. “Just pick out your skates and let’s get the hell outta town before traffic gets bad.”

Sam leveraged himself up onto the blades of the skates he’d already put on, wobbly on his feet and a little surprised to find a different set of leg muscles working than he was used to, even just standing up straight.

“Are we picking any up for Jack?” Sam asked, as he started to stomp around the soft mat to test out the feel.

“Nah, he texted, said he picked some up in Boston in case he didn’t make it home before the stores closed,” Dean said, and stood up as well.

Sam sighed. “It’s a shame his exams went so late into December,” he said. “Honestly I’m kinda worried about him driving through that storm system.”

“Yeah…” Dean said, partially to himself. “I haven’t heard from him since he left Indy this morning, you?”

“Nothing,” Sam replied. “I don’t want to text him while he’s driving. Better to let him take his time.”

It was then that Cas rounded the corner back into the aisle of skates, still holding the white skate with the teeth. “I have an answer,” he said proudly, like it was some hidden knowledge he’d uncovered through years of research, and not a simple question he’d asked the lankey kid in the store uniform shirt who was just then hovering awkwardly at the end of the aisle. “The skates with the teeth are for figure skating. The curved blades are for hockey. Gender has nothing to do with it, Dean.”

“Fantastic,” Dean deadpanned. “You wanna pick out some hockey skates, then?”

“You still assume those are the ideal skates,” Cas said, more of a question than a statement.

“Are you going to learn to figure skate or something?” Dean asked.

“Am I going to be playing hockey?” Cas responded. “For that matter, are you?”

“Um,” said the sales girl. “We do have a wide range of affordable sticks and padding…”

“I just think it’s worth weighing the benefits of the two styles,” Cas concluded.

“You want the skates with the teeth, Cas, you can have the skates with the teeth!” Dean said, raising his voice above his usual speaking volume, but not quite to a yell. “As long as you pick something before New Year’s!”

Unphased, Castiel turned to the employee. “Which of these styles of skate would be a better fit for skating around our duck pond?” He asked.

“Just skating? In a circle?” Cas nodded. “It, um…”

The kid looked nervously between Castiel and Dean, unsure who to appease.

“It doesn’t matter?” She offered.

“You see, Dean?” Cas said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I told you it didn’t matter!” Dean snapped.

Sam couldn’t stop himself from laughing, and the mildly hurt look he got from his brother and their husband couldn’t even bring down the feeling. The thought that two people could love each other so much that their biggest fights were about things like cable packages, and soil acidity, and, apparently, fucking ice skates.

The thought that a couple years ago, they were arguing about life and death. The thought that they had the choice, now, to be truly and irredeemably petty.

“Do you guys ever even know what you’re bickering about?” Sam asked between giggles. “Do you ever?”

He caught a flash of understanding in Dean’s eye, and his face softened.

Sam hadn’t expected the Ice Skates Argument of December ‘22 to be a Hallmark moment, but sometimes, damn it, he realized how good they had it at the strangest times.

\---

The duck pond was far and away across the cornfield, out at the corner of the property, and even if it hadn’t been snowy, the truck was a better choice than the Impala to take on the unkempt dirt road from the house to the back property line.

The weather could have been better for it, sure. It would be a white Christmas, but only barely, as Christmas Eve had fallen on a cold snap in the freeze and thaw cycle central Kansas had been trapped in. If the pond had been any deeper than waist high at its deepest point, Sam would hesitate to trust the ice to hold them, but when the worst case scenario was some wet jeans and a quick trip back to the house to warm up, it was a risk they were willing to take.

When they pulled up, Dean grabbed the snow shovel out of the truck bed and eased onto the ice in his boots to start clearing it for a rink. “Don’t wait for me, get laced up,” he said to the other two. “I’ll get mine on when I’m done shovelling.”

Sam and Cas were ready by the time Dean was halfway through the snow, and Sam took a few baby steps out before reaching to help Cas. He’d skated before - not often, but a few times - and Cas seemed uncharacteristically apprehensive, for all his bravado in the store.

For reasons unbeknownst to even Sam, Sam had kind of figured Castiel would take to skating with ease. He’d be graceful, and confident, especially in his freshly sharpened new fucking figure skates. Angelic, one could say, but only if one wanted a harsh side eye from his literally divine husband.

Cas took one step out, gasped sharply, and clung to Sam as he scrambled to keep his feet from slipping out from under him.

“Fuck,” Cas deadpanned. Sam held most of his weight while he got his feet back on solid, if slippery, ground.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Cas said, and managed to release Sam’s arm. He shuffled forward, half stepping, half gliding a few feet before coming to a slow stop, arms held out from his body and knees bent in a desperate attempt to stay upright.

Sam stifled a laugh. He hid his amusement from Cas - it was only polite.

“Hey, Tonya Harding!” Dean shouted from across the pond. “How’re those skates treating ‘ya?”

But someone, it seemed, had no apparent grasp on politeness, as a concept.

Castiel was still for a long moment, and with him facing away from Sam, Sam thought at first that he was simply ignoring Dean. Then Cas’ head turned incrementally towards him, and Sam caught the glare. Cas turned, and started step-shuffling in a beeline towards Dean.

Dean laughed. “Oh, shit, Sam,” he gasped between giggles. “Oh, shit, he’s coming for me.”

Cas kept going. He picked up speed, found some balance, and tripped over his skate’s pick before catching himself, which sent Dean into renewed hysterics, before recovering and shuffling cautiously forward again.

When Dean looked up, Cas was closer than he’d expected. Still laughing, trying to stifle the laughter and get his breath back, he started backing up. “Oh, shit, Sam!” He called out. One more step back, boot on snow on ice, and Castiel collided with Dean. Dean’s footing was lost in an instant, and he grabbed at Cas as the snow shovel went flying out of his hand. He went down, hard, on his back, with Cas going right down on top of him. “Ow!”

Sam heard some grumbling, some far off argument continuing between the two of them. Something about Dean’s newfound bad back (that Cas would pretend not to heal later).

Sam stayed out of it. Observing was oftentimes its own reward, he found. Moments like this held something precious in their honesty, like candid photographs or singing in the shower. His memories were full of moments like these - moments when, together or apart, his family shared something private, and unobserved, and unflinchingly true, and it was exactly why he loved them.

Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he tore his eyes away from his brother and their angel to pull it out and unlock it.

 

> **_Jack_ **  
>  _Roads are bad, it’s going slower than I thought it would. I’m still doing my best to make it tonight!_

And it took just one text to take Sam’s good mood and sink it.

Well, it’d be fine. If worse came to worse, they’d have a Christmas afternoon instead of a Christmas morning, the presents wouldn’t go to waste, Jack would still be home for a week before he had to head back to school after New Year’s… And most importantly, it wasn’t Jack’s fault.

Sam shot back a quick _don’t worry, just drive safe! Love you_ and slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket.

\---

Sam kept the text to himself until they were done their first foray into ice skating and packing themselves back into the truck’s cabin for the ride back to the house. It wasn’t that bad, he told himself, and then Dean and Castiel in turn. It had been a text reassuring them that Jack was coming, as soon as he could. But it shifted his stomach in his body, somehow.

They left the skates in a pile by the door, and Dean went wordlessly to wash up and start thinking of dinner.

“He’s worried,” Cas said, setting Sam’s mug on the coffee table before sitting down on the sofa with his own. The living room as it usually was had been squashed to one side, furniture shoved over to make space for the big, fresh cut tree in the corner. The lights threw one end of the room into flickering colours, and there was a picture perfect pile of gifts in shiny paper underneath. Mostly, they were addressed to someone who wasn’t there. Not yet, anyway.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Sam said, more as a comfort than a judgement. He had his slipper-clad feet braced against the table, bent forward in his seat over a little knitting project in his hands - a sock, whose mate was upstairs, and who he’d long accepted would not be ready to stuff in a stocking in the morning.

“We all put a lot into the holidays this year,” Cas said. “He just doesn’t want Jack to miss it.”

“None of us want Jack to miss it,” Sam sighed. “But he’s coming, he’ll just… he’ll just be late.”

“I know,” Cas said, simply, and leaned his body against Sam’s. It made his knitting a little awkward to do, and he was sure he was jostling Cas with every stitch, but Cas didn’t complain, and neither did he.

“Think about it like this,” Cas offered, after enjoying the peace and quiet for a few minutes. “He wouldn’t be late if he hadn’t gotten into such a good school. We could be sad he’s taking a while to get home, or we can be glad he’s got such a nice place to come home from, not to mention that we all have someplace to come home to, now.”

“I guess,” Sam mumbled, and then cursed as he dropped a stitch.

Cas glanced over into his lap, sat up to put down his mug, and reached for the knitting. Sam surrendered it easily, and watched Cas worm the needle into the dropped stitch and rescue it, deftly, like he’d been doing it for years and not the three months since he and Sam had started learning from the same library book.

“Thanks,” Sam said, as he took it back.

“He’s like the Sam I imagine you were before we met,” Cas said, as if the conversation never lulled. “But with a family that can and will help him, instead of leaving him behind. I suppose that’s all anyone can do, is try to give their children the opportunities they didn’t have.”

The sentimentality was a bit much, a bit hard hitting for the weird, quasi-bad mood he was in, at that moment. Sam used the knitting as an excuse to avoid looking at Cas.

“He’s like the Castiel I imagine you would have been if you hadn’t had to fix so many other people’s mistakes,” Sam said, instead.

“Hm.” Cas settled back in against Sam. “What’s he get from Dean?”

Sam huffed a laugh. “His charisma, probably.”

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty charming,” Cas said.

Sam bent to kiss the top of Cas’ head.

\---

“I’m still in Missouri, but I think it’s clearing up. I can still make it, I just needed to stop for a coffee.”

Cas dragged Sam’s cell phone across the kitchen table towards himself. “Jack, if you’re tired, you should rest. Is there a motel near you? We’ll pay for you to stay.”

“The one at this rest stop says no vacancy. So did the last two I passed,” Jack laughed. “It’s ironic, right? A ‘no room at the inn’ kinda thing on Christmas Eve?”

“Kid, you are literally the anti-Christ,” Dean said. “Keep looking, there’s gotta be something.”

“It’ll suck for you not to be here on Christmas morning,” said Sam. He leaned into the phone unnecessarily, sitting more on the table than at it. “But it’ll suck way more if you die trying to get here. You know how stupid it is to drive when you’re tired.”

“But Dean--”

“Dean is not a role model for road safety, Jack,” Cas said.

Dean pulled a face. “Excuse me?”

Cas turned. “You have been driving more or less every day for three decades,” he said. “Jack is five. You can take risks he can’t.”

Dean gave his little ‘fair enough’ eyebrow quirk, and sat back in his chair.

On the other end of the phone line, they heard Jack sigh. “I’ll… I’ll keep an eye out. And if I really feel tired, I’ll stop. I promise.”

“You promise?” Dean asked. “Really and truly?”

“Yes,” Jack replied forcefully.

“Okay, then,” Dean said, looking to Sam and Castiel for, Sam figured, approval.

“We know you’ll make good choices, Jack,” Sam said. He picked up the phone from the table.

“Okay,” Jack said. “Alright, I should go get back in the car. I love you, guys.”

The three men responded with a rough, uncoordinated chorus of “love you, too”s, and Sam tapped the red phone icon with only a hint of hesitation, ending the call. The apprehension of earlier in the evening grew in his chest, and he felt weighted down by it. Worry, sure, but more disappointment.

Sam tried to remind himself of what he himself had told Castiel earlier. He’d be there, just late. They’d have their chance to be a family for Christmas, just not exactly when they thought they would.

He took a breath, and looked up, snapped back from the grey area of a zone out. Neither Cas, nor Dean had spoken in the intervening minute since they’d hung up, and if he knew his brother, Dean was feeling pretty bummed himself, sitting back in the kitchen chair and just kind of sulking.

Cas, on the other hand, was watching Dean. No doubt, Cas would be disappointed, himself, but Dean was taking it so hard. Harder than Sam had expected, and probably harder than Cas had thought he would, too. Cas reached towards Dean, laid a hand on his shoulder, and Dean seemed to shake himself awake and out of his sadness slump.

“What?” He asked.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked him.

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, Cas, of course I’m alright.” He scraped his chair back and stood. “C’mon, you wanna help me pre-do the yams for tomorrow?”

Cas smiled sadly. “Of course,” he said, and followed Dean to cupboards. He pulled out the home grown sweet potatoes they’d chosen the day before, while Dean started warming up the oven. Not a word had to be exchanged between them.

Sam followed just long enough to interrupt Castiel for a small, tight hug, and crossed the kitchen to pat Dean on the shoulder, before going back to his socks.

\---

They put on TBS, and the 24 hour A Christmas Story marathon, changed into pajamas, and Sam and Dean provided live bullshit commentary for the first half of the movie before Dean went quiet and Sam quickly realized he’d conked out for the night. Cas, sitting on the floor while the brothers shared the couch, was rapt with attention, giving the directionless slog of a flick the kind of focus Sam usually reserved for case work, or the Discovery Channel’s true crime shows.

Sam himself only made it another twenty minutes before slumping against Dean and nodding off, around the time Ralphie was desperately decoding an Ovaltine ad from his favourite radio show.

Maybe, Sam thought, as he dozed off, they didn’t need to do everything for the holidays. Maybe this was enough. Maybe Jack wasn’t going to miss Christmas just because he didn’t make it for the big Christmas morning bonanza and the full-day turkey prep ritual that even Dean wasn’t sure they were doing right.

He would just be glad, he thought, when they were all together again. Tomorrow. Not so long to wait, after all. And then he was out like a light.

He awoke some time later to the sound of footsteps.

The TV was still on - the movie, evidently, having looped - but Cas was rushing out of the living room, bare feet pounding on hardwood. He was confused, at first. Panicked, for an instant - where was the fire? What had Cas running off without a word?

Then he saw the white glow of headlights on snow out the front window.

“Dean,” he said, shaking his brother to wake him, only sparing a moment for the effort before he was off the couch and out of the room himself.

Cas was standing in the foyer, in the arch of the open front door, letting the cold December wind blow into the house. Before Sam reached him, another figure appeared in the door from the outside - shorter than Cas, in a thick, beige parka, one arm laden with gift bags and the other holding a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Cas was on Jack before he’d even crossed the threshold, scooping him in and wrapping him up in an enormous hug. Jack laughed, a little startled by the display, but instantly threw his arms around Castiel in turn, and buried his face in his dad’s shoulder. He shut his eyes, and some kind of tight wound energy evaporated from his body - from Cas’, too.

When they opened again, Jack caught sight of Sam, and his eyes lit up. Cas released him easily, let him walk into the house and towards Sam, and Jack threw his arms open ready for another tight hug.

“Hey, Jack,” Sam breathed, and wrapped him up in turn. He used his larger stature to really cradle Jack to him, and felt a months-held tension release finally have his son safe, home, and in his arms again.

“I told you to find a room,” he said, into Jack’s hair.

“I wasn’t tired,” Jack replied, but his weary voice and the late hour suggested otherwise.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Sam laughed.

“Lecture him about it later,” Dean said, from behind Sam. He’d finally arrived in the room and was stepping up for his own greeting. “Right now, I want my hug.”

Jack laughed and threw himself into a hug with Dean, as well.

“Missed you, kiddo,” Dean mumbled, almost as if he hadn’t wanted to be heard.

“Me too,” Jack said quietly. “Missed all of you.”

It wasn’t long before Cas was taking Jack’s gift bags to put under the tree, and Dean was insisting on grabbing him a snack after his long drive, and Sam was about to run upstairs and make sure Jack’s room had fresh sheets and towels, but Jack grabbed him by the sleeve before he could make it to the second step.

“The tree,” Jack said. “Did you guys do all that?”

“Um, yeah,” Sam said. He felt mildly dumbfounded, not having expected the question at all. He stepped back to the foyer floor and leaned to look at it through the archway into the living room, the flickering lights shining while Cas carefully rearranged the new arrivals among the other presents. “We made some of the ornaments, bought some of them, cut the tree ourselves... “

“You did such a great job,” Jack said.

Sam rubbed absently at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… we wanted it to be nice for you. Your first time coming home for Christmas, it felt special.”

Sam watched Jack in profile as he smiled at the tree. The smile grew, until Jack chuckled and shook his head.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I got to come home and be with you,” Jack said. “It was already special.”

Sam felt himself smile, too.

“Welcome home, Jack,” he said. “And Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Only like... fifteen minutes late to technically count as posted during Christmas. It's still Christmas on the West Coast!
> 
> TheBoyKingsThrone was moral support, even if he's mean to me :P
> 
> Plus he and TFWBT are the other two sides of our server's "Fluffy TFW Dads Christmas" triangle. Check out their one shots!
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone!


End file.
